


Five pieces of girl-related advice that Dean imparted upon Sam during their teenage years.

by Hope



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Het, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-01
Updated: 2006-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-03 10:24:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hope/pseuds/Hope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>http://hopeful-fiction.livejournal.com/45332.html<br/>http://angstslashhope.livejournal.com/1080412.html</p></blockquote>





	Five pieces of girl-related advice that Dean imparted upon Sam during their teenage years.

**1.**

He doesn't start dating, not properly at least, until he's fifteen. Dean gave him shit for it at first - from age thirteen til fourteen, at least; after fourteen it's like Dean's whole _thing_ about it shifts from taunting to concern, though the words he uses don't change that much. Instead of lying in the dark regaling Sam with the tale of his lost virginity to make Sam squirm, he delivers the speech as if it's a fable, a moral allegory. With a little more embellishment each time.

Until Sam just has to roll over and wrap the pillow around his head, "Jesus, _Dean!_", trying to steady his breathing, make it sound like he's close to sleep; the _whoosh-whoosh-whoosh_ pound of his heart loud and wet-sounding with the muffle of the pillow.

His first date, his first _proper_ date is with Cindy Stevens, and they go to a movie and she lets Sam touch her boob and kiss her with tongues, and hold her hand when they're walking down the sidewalk after. They're on the coast and there's a boardwalk and a cart with a guy wisping fairy floss round-and-round, and when Sam opens up his wallet to pull out a dollar bill to pay for it, a condom falls out. Not used or anything, still in its wrapper. Sam picks it up automatically, before he realises what it is and then Cindy gives this gasp and slaps him.

"_What?_" Dean says later, "I was only trying to help!" And Sam's not sure if he's more pissed that it _wasn't_ a joke.

**2.**

"Jesus, Sammy, not _that_ one!"

**3.**

Dean at seventeen is so over-sexed that Sam feels affronted just being in the same _room_ as him. Sam just doesn't _get_ it, anyway, why the curve of Dean's lips is always so ... so _lascivious_ (and yes, Sam learned that word from a _book_, he learns lots of words from books, books are better than girls, jeez, what could be more _boring_ than sitting around the cafeteria all lunch period with some airheaded blonde licking your face?), and why, whenever he's catches Sam looking at him he waggles his eyebrows as if to say "hey, Sammy, even if _you're_ not thinking about something filthy, I sure am!"

It's gross.

And one morning Sam wakes up because Dean's made this odd kind of grunting noise, and it's weird enough that Sam forces himself a bit further awake, turns his head on the pillow and blinks blearily. The alarm clock comes into focus; seven minutes before it's due to go off. The room feels strange, morning-light but like it's still in this in-between space because the alarm hasn't gone off yet, it's not actually _time to get up_ yet.

Dean makes another muffled noise. The blankets are pulled up to his neck but they slide down a little as Dean's body shifts again, rhythmic rock against the mattress.

"_Dean!_" Sam hisses, appalled.

Dean's head turns on the pillow, turns to face Sam. His eyes are half-lidded, skin flushed, loose mouth pushed out of shape by the pressure of the pillow until it slides into a sloppy grin.

"You are just... So..." Sam shakes his head and Dean continues to hump against the mattress, blankets sliding a little further. Sam can see the muscles in Dean's shoulders shift as his hands work out of sight (thank god), shoved down beneath him.

"What," Dean slurs.

"God! Like you don't get enough of that _at school_, with... with what's-her-face."

Dean gives another smile, half-turns his face into the pillow. "That's the whole point, Sammy," he says. "Can't be getting any of _that_ if you're... If you're walking around with a boner all day."

"You are unbelievable."

Dean laughs, a blurred, messy sound. "Gotta clear the pipes, dude," he says. "Otherwise, with that... that sweet ass, bouncing in your lap all goddamn recess, and if she's wearing that... wearing that shirt, _jesus_\--" Dean gasps and presses his face to the pillow, another sound breaking out of him even as he closes his teeth around the fabric and Sam looks away but he can still see the uneven stuttering of Dean's body under the covers from the corner of his eye, and then Dean's body goes limp and the alarm goes off.

Dean rolls over, reaches up, slaps the snooze down. "Seriously, Sammy," he says. "You should try it sometime. Trust me, it will actually _help_ you get laid."

"Fuck you," Sam says, and rolls over, curling his knees up. Four minutes and twenty-seven seconds til the alarm trills again.

**4.**

He gets ninety minutes of prom, and then he looks up Dean's standing at the door on the far side of the gym, looking awkward and anxious between two just-as-nervous chaperones.

"Hey," Dean says when Sam goes to him, eyes flickering up and down Sam's too-short suit for a moment, over Sam's shoulder then back to his face. "It's Dad. We've got to go."

"But--"

Dean nods his head backwards, briefly. "No time now, Sammy. Come on."

"Dean, wait, I can't, I can't just--" Dean's half way down the steps at the front of the school before he realises Sam has stopped following him, is still standing at the top. Sam can hear the prom banner fluttering and snapping in the faint wind above and behind him. "My suit, I hired it."

"Doesn't matter."

"But the deposit, Dean, you--"

"It doesn't _matter_ Sammy, come _on_."

"Dean, _wait._" Dean stops, turns again. Sam swallows, hard. The air outside is chill and sharp, and he feels ridiculous with his wrists sticking below his cuffs, with the flowers pinned to his chest. His throat hurts. "What about Susie? I can't just... I can't just _leave_."

Dean sighs, jogs back up the steps. "Okay," He says. But make it quick. We don't have much time, okay?"

"Okay," Sam says, spins to push back through the doors, aborts the movement again. "Jesus, Dean, I don't-- I mean, what am I meant to say to her?" He doesn't want to think about the colour of her dress, how it matches his tie; the flowers on her wrist that match the ones on his lapel. Her face every morning in first period since he asked her, months ago. He swallows, rubs his hands over his face.

"Just tell her you're sorry," Dean says, and his hand is on Sam's shoulder, squeezing briefly. "And," he continues as Sam chews on his lip. "Thank you. Just say thank you, okay? Don't make any excuses or shit like that. Just thank her, okay?"

Sam glances to him briefly, nods. "Okay. I'll just be... I'll be right back." He pushes back into the school.

**5.**

"I want her back without a scratch before midnight. And if you wreck my upholstery? I will _kill_ you."

**Author's Note:**

> http://hopeful-fiction.livejournal.com/45332.html  
> http://angstslashhope.livejournal.com/1080412.html


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